Dark Lord, School's Out

by Jamie Thomson

“What a nitwit,” Dirk muttered under his breath. “Surely she can see I no longer inhabit my old body!”

  With that he rose and headed for the door. Time to do the tedious things one had to do when you were stuck in the body of a puny human child—brush your teeth, go to the bathroom, take a shower, clean the blood off your talons—no, wait, he didn’t have talons anymore.

  He opened the door and stepped out—to be met by a deluge of water full in his face! As he stood there spluttering, he began to make out Miss Deary standing in front of him, grinning madly, a look of gleeful anticipation on her features, an empty bottle in one hand. Dirk coughed, puzzled and confused. Why had she thrown water at him? Behind her, Christopher was staring at them both, openmouthed. It was moments like this that Dirk really missed his old powers and spells, like the Spell of Utter Annihilation or the Claw of Ripping Death. Then he recognized the bottle Miss Deary was holding.

  “Ah, I get it,” said Dirk. “Holy water from Reverend Purejoie’s church! Cunning—not!”

  Miss Deary’s face fell. Dirk began to laugh. “You fool, Chumpsy! Holy water no longer affects me here on earth as it would have done in the Darklands!” he said.

  Chris interjected, “What are you doing, Miss Deary? You can’t do that! You can’t treat him like that!” he said to her in shocked tones.

  Miss Deary simply shrugged as if she didn’t care. Just then, Mrs. Purejoie appeared on the landing.

  “Ah, there you are, Miss Deary. I wondered where you’d gone to!” she said.

  “Mom, did you see that? Miss Deary just threw water in Dirk’s face!” said Chris.

  “Yes, dear, well, I’m sure she didn’t throw it. I’m sure she was just washing his face for him, you know, helping to look after him. That’s what nannies do,” said Mrs. Purejoie. With that, Miss Deary headed down the stairs. Mrs. Purejoie followed her sedately, as if in a dream, leaving Dirk and Chris on the landing together.

  “Can’t you see your mother has been ensorcelled in some way?” said Dirk.

  “What? En— En— What?” said Chris.

  “Ensorcelled. You know, enchanted. With a spell. Or hypnosis if you prefer, if that makes it easier for you, though it is obviously sorcery of some kind. Miss Deary has … bamboozled her. And your father.”

  Chris’s eyes narrowed. Maybe Dirk was right. Mom was behaving oddly and the nanny was definitely weird! And Dirk usually was right when it came to this sort of thing, no matter how outlandish it sounded. But still, there’s outlandish and there’s outlandish. I mean, Mom and Dad had been enchanted by an assassin nanny from another world? Really?

  September Rip-out-their-Hearts 1

  It will be Christopher’s birthday in a few days. I suppose I should get him some sort of gift. Must make sure he doesn’t get the wrong idea and think it is some form of tribute though.

  The DarkPhone is still charging. I do hope Sooz will be alive to receive my call! It is maddening that she is there and I am here! By the Nine Netherworlds, if only there was some way I could swap places with her.

  The Birthday Party

  Happy Spawnday, Christopher, you have been a most excellent servant,” said Dirk, handing Christopher his birthday present. “I am glad you are finally twelve, like the rest of us.”

  Christopher stared at it in disbelief. It was a framed photo of Dirk that hadn’t even been wrapped up. The frame was black and covered in little white skulls and other necromantic imagery. The picture itself was like some kind of cheesy publicity photo from a bygone age with Dirk staring off into the distance as if deep in thought. He’d even signed the photo.

  There was also a card. The cover was plain black, with the words “Happy Birthday” on the front written in red letters dripping with blood.

  Inside it said:

  And he’d marked it off with three little skull and crossbones symbols instead of kisses.

  Chris was speechless for a moment. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A framed picture of Dirk? Ridiculous! Who gives a photo of themselves as a present except for egotistical, swollen-headed megalomaniac nutcases that think they’re masters of the universe?! Wait a minute …

  Dirk was smiling happily, as if he genuinely expected Chris to be pleased with his gift. Chris sighed. Well, Dirk was Dirk after all, what did he expect?

  “Thank you, Dirk. What a nice present,” he said. He tried to sound convincing but it didn’t quite work. Dirk was not so easily fooled.

  “What is it?” he said. “Don’t you like it? No, surely you do. I mean, who wouldn’t like such a princely gift? Look, it’s me. See? Me!”

  Chris put his face in his hands. So far it was turning out to be one of his worst birthdays ever!

  “What! Surely you cannot be unhappy with my gift!” said Dirk.

  “No, no,” said Chris, trying not to hurt Dirk’s feelings—such as they were—not to mention avoiding his wrath. “It’s not you, Dirk. I love your present, obviously; I’ll put it on the table in my room. Thanks, man.”

  “What’s the matter then?” said Dirk. “You are upset about something aren’t you? That is a bad sign among humans, isn’t it—being upset?”

  “It’s the present from my mom,” said Chris, thinking fast. “It’s a bit … lame. Well, not what I wanted anyway.” Which was true, he didn’t much like his present from his mom, in fact there hadn’t been a really decent present all day and it was very disappointing—Dirk’s present was the last straw. Although, to be fair, getting a present at all from Dirk was actually a bit of a surprise in itself …

  “Really? What is it then, show me,” said Dirk commandingly.

  “Here, look,” said Chris, and he pulled out a gold medallion he had on a gold chain around his neck.

  “Ah, some kind of protective talisman or amulet, is it?” said Dirk. “What’s wrong with that … No wait, is it some kind of binding talisman, a kind of magical manacle, enchanted by one of her archbishops or something, is that it? I bet that’s it!! Oh, she is cunning, your mother, cunning.”

  “No, no,” said Chris, a little smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just a St. Christopher medallion.”

  “A saint!!” said Dirk, recoiling. “You have the amulet of a saint around your neck? Be careful, my friend, lest it throttle you—or worse, explode, scattering your brains around the school grounds!”

  Christopher was laughing out loud now. “No, Dirk, that’d be if you wore it, not me!”

  “Well, what powers does it have?”

  “Powers? Well, none,” said Chris.

  “None, what do you mean, none? What is the point of it then?” said a bemused Dirk.

  “It’s a St. Christopher medallion. He’s the patron saint of travelers. It’s got Christopher on it, carrying Jesus on his back. You know, like his burden. Like one of those parables my mom talks about,” said Chris.

  “Wait, why carry him at all? Simply summon some Skirrits to build a bridge or command Abrakulax, the Dragon King, to fly him over. Or get a boat, for evil’s sake!” said Dirk.

  “You’re not really getting it are you, Dirk? Anyway, it’s supposed to bring you luck,” said Chris.

  “Ah, so it does have powers, it’s a lucky talisman! I see, I see. So, what is wrong with it, then? I mean, saints are notoriously hard to defeat, you know. It is a powerful gift.”

  “Well, it’s not really what I wanted. I want an Xbox or a bike or a game or … you know. Not some necklace.”

  “Ah, I see. But you have a bike and an Xbox already. And … well, anyway, you have that framed photo of me. That should make up for it, right?” said Dirk.

  Chris sighed. “Yes, Dirk, that makes up for it, really it does. No, really,” he said.

  Dirk narrowed his eyes. Was Christopher being sarcastic again? Suddenly Mrs. Purejoie’s voice wafted up from down the stairs. “Cake’s ready, dear! Come down and we’ll cut it! And bring Dirk with you!”

  Chris and Dirk exchanged looks. “Here we go,” muttered Christopher under his breath.
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  Dirk grinned. “I thought you liked cake!” he said.

  “I do, it’s just all the fuss and attention I don’t like,” said Christopher.

  “Ah yes, I understand. Mrs. Purejoie may decide to hug you!” said Dirk.

  “Oh lord no, not that, anything but that!” said Christopher, feigning utter horror, which made Dirk laugh out loud. Together they walked down to the dining room.

  Gathered to meet them were Mrs. Purejoie, straight from the church, still dressed in her minister’s outfit, her husband, Dr. Jack, and the nanny, Dumpsy Deary.

  Dirk frowned. “What in the Nine Netherworlds is she doing here?” he said.

  Chris shrugged. “I don’t know—to check up on you, I guess.”

  Mrs. Purejoie gestured toward the table, smiling. In the middle sat a large cake, baked in the shape of a strange-looking tower, covered in white icing.

  Dirk sucked his breath in at the sight of it. “The Tower of the White Wizard Hasdruban, may devil worms eat his brains!” he said.

  “No, dear,” said Mrs. Purejoie. “It’s a nice birthday cake, made just for Christopher by Miss Deary. Isn’t that nice of her?” she said, as if on autopilot.

  “Yes, very nice,” said Dr. Jack.

  Miss Deary grinned a sinister grin, white teeth literally sparkling, little red tongue flicking out like a snake tasting the air. She waved her hand toward the cake.

  Dirk grinned back at her. Her face fell at the sight of his grin and she took an involuntary step backward. But then she pulled herself together and gestured emphatically at the cake once more.

  Dirk looked at it suspiciously. She’d poisoned it, of course! But the deluded meddler was too stupid to actually poison it with something that would affect humans, because that might kill Christopher too. And that would be against her rules, no doubt. No, she would have tried something that was supposed to work only on him. Something ridiculous!

  He stepped up to the table and said, “What have you done to this cake to poison me, Dumpsy, you absurd do-gooder? Don’t tell me, you’ve added powdered unicorn’s horn, known to be deadly to a Dark Lord? Or perhaps along with the vanilla essence, you’ve added Holy Essence? That would hurt me, wouldn’t it? Bah, you fool!”

  With that he grabbed a great hunk of cake and crammed it into his mouth, smearing it all over his face in the process.

  “Hey! My cake!” said Chris. “You ruined my cake!”

  “Now, now, Dirk, you really should have waited for Christopher, you know, it’s his birthday after all, not yours!” said Mrs. Purejoie.

  The White Lady though, she just stood there with a look of glee on her face—that slowly began to fade as it became obvious that Dirk was unaffected by the cake.

  “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” mumbled Dirk as he wolfed down the cake. “See, Grumpsy, you fool!” he said. “You will not defeat me so easily, oh no, mwah, ha, ha!”

  Dumpsy Deary glared back at him in frustrated anger. Then she pointed at Dirk’s cake-smeared face and smiled, another gleeful smile full of sinister intent. With a sudden movement she whipped out a white hankie and seized Dirk like a falcon swooping on its prey. Before Dirk could even say “By the Nether Gods, get off me, you absurd do-gooder,” she was wiping the cake off his face with the hankie. Mrs. Purejoie and Dr. Jack looked on approvingly while Chris was doing his best not to laugh.

  After she’d finished, she stared at Dirk avidly. Dirk coughed and spluttered, and for a moment a look of triumph appeared in Miss Deary’s eyes, but Dirk began to recover. His nose was twitching. And then he laughed, “Ha, I know that smell! You soaked the hankie in Aqua Vitae, the Waters of Life, didn’t you?” he said contemptuously.

  Aqua Vitae was so toxic to creatures of the Dark that it would strip their skin off in seconds. Death would follow in moments. Permanent death.

  “Ha, you fool, Lumpsy, you ridiculous fool!” said Dirk. “I have foiled you once again! Mwah, ha, ha!”

  Miss Deary grimaced in angry irritation and looked for a moment like she was going to try something else, but then the doorbell rang. It was some of Christopher’s friends, coming over for birthday cake. Miss Deary sighed resignedly. She glared at Dirk but then she had to wait while Mrs. Purejoie served cake.

  Dirk crossed his arms and settled down into a chair, resigning himself to a birthday party. A twelve-year-old boy, having cake. At his mother’s house. And his mother was a minister. How uncool was that? he thought, the sides of his mouth twitching into a smile. On the other hand, Chris’s foster brother was an evil Dark Lord from another dimension. Now that was cool! Dirk laughed out loud—not his trademark evil overlord’s laugh, but a simple boyish chuckle.

  “What’s so funny, Dirk?” said Chris’s friend, Nutters, who’d just come in.

  “Oh, nothing, Peter Nutley,” said Dirk. “Nothing at all!”

  Later on that evening, just before bedtime, Dirk and Christopher were in Dirk’s room with Dave the Storm Crow perched nearby.

  “So, how is the phone coming along?” asked Chris.

  “Almost ready, my friend,” said Dirk, hunched over the phone, and making tiny adjustments with a little black screwdriver. “Almost ready.”

  “It’s been so long—Sooz could be dead for all we know,” said a worried Chris.

  Dirk sighed. “I know, I know, but there is nothing more we can do but hope for the best. It is a great worry, not knowing what is happening in the Darklands. If only I could get back there and sort things out, take control once more.”

  “And rescue Sooz!” said Chris, emphatically.

  “Well, yes, of course, of course, that’s the point, isn’t it,” said Dirk. “Anyway, let’s forget about the phone problem for now. I want to show you something.”

  With that he turned off the light and opened the curtains. Down below, the porch of the Purejoies’ house was lit by an outdoor lamp. Miss Deary had just stepped out. Up against the wall was her bicycle, painted all over in white. Even the tires were white. Miss Deary was changing out of her sensible white shoes into an odd pair of boots she used for riding. They were bright silver, and covered in strange patterns. She put one foot into a boot.

  “Wait for it, wait for it,” whispered Dirk. Chris looked down, intrigued.

  Dumpsy put her other boot on—and gave a sudden shriek of horror! Dirk began to chuckle evilly—which set Christopher off too. After quickly removing her foot from the boot, the nanny reached in and groped around. Eventually she took out a small metal object.

  “Hand buzzer,” spluttered Dirk, barely able to speak through the laughter.

  “A what?” said an equally choked-up Chris.

  “You know, like you get in those old practical-joke kits. When you shake hands, it gives a little buzzing shock—I put one in her ridiculous boots!” said Dirk.

  Chris laughed out loud. “Awesome!” he said. Dirk was laughing so much, tears appeared in his eyes. If only it could have been a deadly scorpion or snake or something, Dirk thought to himself, but actually, that wouldn’t have been nearly so funny, not to mention the unwanted attention from the police and so on.

  Just then, the White Lady whipped her head around with unnatural swiftness and stared up at the window like a big cat eyeing a gazelle.

  Dirk and Chris pulled back out of sight, the laughter dying on their lips in an instant.

  “She’s creepy,” said Chris.

  “I know, I know,” said Dirk. “Still, it was fun to pull a fast one on her for once!”

  In the distance, they could hear the metallic squeak of the nanny’s bike as she cycled home, wherever that was.

  Dirk and Christopher grinned at each other. Then Chris’s smile faded.

  “I wish Sooz could have been here to see that,” he said.

  Dirk frowned. “So do I, Christopher, so do I. But … what can we do? Our hands are tied.”

  Chris sighed resignedly. “Well, it’s been a long day, Dirk. I’m going to bed,” he said.

  “Good night, Christopher Purejoie, sleep the sl
eep of the innocent while you still can, puny human child!” said Dirk imperiously.

  Chris chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, yes, okay then, ’night, Dark Lord!”

  Just then, a sudden bloodcurdling scream came from the phone.

  “By the Nether Gods! It’s charged up!” said Dirk. “What’s Sooz’s number, Chris?”

  “It should be there, in the phone’s memory. Well, it used to be, before …,” said Chris.

  “Ah yes, here it is,” said Dirk. “Quiet now, Christopher.” Dirk put the phone up to his ear—the little hands came out and grabbed it, securing the phone in place.

  “It’s ringing, it’s ringing!”

  The Paladin Rufino

  Sooz lounged on the Throne of Skulls, legs drawn up beneath her, one arm draped over the side. Below her stood Agrash and Gargon.

  “Okay, so there’s plenty of black paint in the Storeroom and the Goblins can paint the ground-level stuff. But how do we paint all those towers up in the air? I mean, we’ll need some seriously big ladders and that’s before we’ve even talked about health and safety!” said Sooz.

  “Health and … What that mean, Mistress?” said Gargon.

  “You know, safety … er … and health …” Sooz faltered. How do you explain the concept of health and safety to a seven-foot demon monster and a Goblin?

  “Actually,” quipped Agrash, “Gargon can fly up and do it.”

  “Ha, easy for you to say, little Goblin,” said Gargon.

  “That’s what you did the first time around,” said Agrash. “In fact, you did most of the building work, according to the legends! Isn’t that so, Gargon?”

  “Yes, yes, Gargon do lots of work on Tower,” said Gargon proudly, puffing his chest out and pointing to himself vigorously with a black-taloned thumb.

  “So,” said Agrash, “it should be easy enough for you to fly up there and paint it, then!”

  “Well, yes, Gargon can paint it,” he said. His brow furrowed in puzzlement for a moment—had he just been tricked into doing something by that snot-nosed little Goblin?